Pressed Flowers
by xNychanx
Summary: O is a young woman who was raised in whammy's house. Her deep and yet shallow connections with L entangle her in BB's bloody web. Her only hope is to either pull herself together or rely on L. which will she choose? Rated M for Violence, and etc.
1. Chapter 1

This is a fan fiction. Beyond Birthday, and L belong to Tsugumi Ohba and are not products of my own imagination. Ophelia, however, is mine. Names, characters (Other than the ones I've listed as belonging to Ohba), and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.

Chapter One- Too Late

Black silk soothed her skin as she lay prostrate on the rounded bed. A large pool of violet flowed from the top of her head. Her body ached while her heart was sore. What was it about this particular case that stressed her out the most? Did this unforgiving melancholy result from the unforgettable sights of the slaughtered woman whose limp structure was meticulously photographed? No, sure it was heartbreaking to see the photo of a young Tara Blefton. She was a bleeding mess with a large meat hook shoved in between her shoulder blades. Still, no matter how gruesome this scene, this wasn't enough to extract this kind of reaction from her. She was surrounded by the pictures taken by her partner ,Allan Vandergaurd, a newbie to her kind of work. With a long, tedious stretch Ophelia sat back up, her bones popping at her movements. She was getting too old for this type of thing, even if 25 was fairly young. She scooted off the bed, ignoring the soft PLIP! of the polaroids falling to the hard wood floor and landing on their back as she made her way to the window. Her hand touched the glass pane. It was cold in London, even at the warmest of nights London was cold to her. But it was fine, by now she had become numb and unable to react to the mind straining loneliness she had to withstand since Jonathan was gunned down.  
>She scanned London's skyline as Midnight was introduced by Big Ben. The heavy lullaby rang throughout the still air. With a twist of the carefully crafted, gold door knobs the doors swung open gently and she found herself leaning on the edge of the balcony. The white wood beneath her fingers was as cold as the air around her. London was a beautiful place when it came to the matters of the eye, but when it came to the matters of the mind it was ugly. The tourists that ran hand and hand with their spouses below the towering Ben only knew what they saw. She knew this place, she knew the happenings. One of the most notorious murderers lived in London, Jack The Ripper. It didn't matter where someone was born they knew who Jack The Ripper was, they knew what he did. She snapped out of her reverie at the last three dings of Big Ben's song.<br>Stars dotted the sky as though an artist meticulously painted them there on a thick, black canvas. She knew exactly why sadness hovered above her with the moon's large, smiling face. This night, this day's new beginning marked the anniversary of the day she met Jonathan, her dearly departed. She was entangled in the soft, twisting vines of daydream, lost in precious memories and perilous thoughts of his sweet lips.  
>So enthralled in her whimsical thoughts was she that she did not notice the ever-lurking shadowed figure. The predator opened the freshly oiled door and slinked onto the My House Is Truly Home mat. Abruptly he stopped halfway across Ophelia's bedroom. A smile graced his face as he watched the barely dress figure waltzing with an imaginary partner, reliving her first date. He couldn't watch her like this forever it was time to implement his plan.<br>Eyes closed still, Ophelia began to twirl to the right, but a force stopped her.  
>"You smell beautiful."<br>The voice was eerie, male, and undeniably monotoned. The tone reminded her of someone from Whammy's, but what was his name? He went by so many. Did he even know his own real name? Her thought process was impeded abruptly as she tilted her head upward in horror to view her assailant. She saw him and her heart instantly race. Blood cells pushed pass one another, crowding her veins as adrenaline would soon provide the means necessary for her escape.  
>"Ryuza-"<br>"Better." He interrupted and shoved a moist rag over her mouth. She smelled something odd as she took in an involuntary breath. It was a sweet smell. Chloroform found its way into her body, she knew what would happen now as her eyelids began to fall.  
>He kneeled as Ophelia became dead weight (Well, actually unconscious weight.) in his arms, keeping the rag over her mouth. An overwhelming blanket of darkness shrouded her mind and to a deep slumber she plummeted.<br>The malicious attacker began to drag his sleeping beauty to her doom over the slick floor. After the front door of the old Victorian-styled house was shut, sound filled the elaborately decorated living room. It was the laptop which was placed precisely on a freshly Pinesol-wiped coffee table. A flashing window suddenly appeared and automatically opened an E-mail.

O,  
>I've deduced by a chain of murders , many of which are no doubt your cases to solve, that a former sucessor of mine was located in your vicinity. He simply goes by Beyond Birthday. Please be careful, he's very resourceful. I am sending this E-mail because I have reason to believe he is informed on your whereabouts. Do NOT leave your home.<br>L

PS You should probably get some new security features on your computer. It was easy for me to hack into your IP address and perform a key trace.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two- Literary Allusion

She woke up in a haze of red, green, and blue. Her hands were tied behind her back, her feet bound as well. The rope had a rough texture that rubbed against her flesh and vigorously murdered skin cells with even the slightest move. Her eyes looked forward, carefully trying to scope out her surroundings. There was one candle, half-melted but still burning with a small dot of a flame. She deduced she was in this strange, dark place for about four hours. It had probably been longer, and then again, it could possible be shorter. She could remember the emergency candles of her home. They were basic wax sticks which were only used when London's power gave in to weather or accidental occurrences. The first time they were brought out had been when a car found its way straight into a power line pole. The scene had not been pretty, the car was bent all the way to the windshield in the front, a wheel had fallen off, glass had been shattered, and blood covered the insides mixing with the tan leather of the van's seats. The pole had fallen over top of the vehicle forcing the power company to turn all of the surrounding area's power for about a week. Humans had not been saved during that horrible accident and during that week the crash was all over London's TV News Channel. Too bad she hadn't been able to watch it.  
>"Nice to see you're awake. Sorry I used so much to drug you, I was worried you'd wake up during the struggle and set me off." A voice came echoing eerily from the dark. She listened to a licking sound, her trained ears fixated on it, and she turned her head to the left prepared to do what she could to survive.<br>She wanted to say something and so she moved her mouth. She was so surprised to find that her mouth had been left ungagged and that she could speak freely if she wished to. But her mouth quickly closed as a man, the figure, advanced from the shrouding darkness that lingered inside of the room fought only by the small flame of the candle before her.  
>"Joyous to see ONE of us can see, as you put it, NICE." She muttered weakly, knowing that in such a depressing room of silence he could hear her as clear as if she were right there beside of him. She had blatantly mocked her attacker so he would not notice as she struggled in her bondage. Such a well-tied knot was it that her small hands could not squeeze through in order to find their way out of the carefully crafted loops. She didn't need to check, but she would do so anyway. Her 145 pound, 5 feet 4 inch frame shifted to the side just a little bit. She moved her left ankle, picking up her feet. No. Her feet were in the same predicament, she could not move. This man, this wicked man could have very well gotten five badges in tying knots. If he hadn't kidnapped her in such a way or even at all, she could have sworn the bastard was property of a boy scout troop.<br>"Oh now, my dear.." He pouted giving a fake lower lip nudge, the fingers of his right hand covered with jam while the jar was in the left, "If you be nice, you might find the rope I tied you with burning your wrists a little bit less."  
>Ophelia watched helplessly as he lay the jar of half-eaten jam on the table behind the candle.<br>"Ophelia, I wrote you a poem, would you like to hear it?"  
>"I do not have a choice do I?"<br>"Of course not." A big smile stretched on his face, his eyes large and wide, eyeliner caked underneath his big black eyes which resembled that of a familiar boy from her past.  
>"Then what is the point of asking me, you bloody git!" She scowled at him.<br>The smirk left as quickly as it had arrived, like a Freshman at a Senior party who realized upon arrival that they had no business being there. He walked forward, rage in his eyes though there were no reflections to show her so. She could tell by the way he walked, swift and yet still emotionless. She tried to scoot back, but she was back as far as she could go. He was in front of her.  
>"I'm warning you Ophelia, I'm not above hitting a woman. Trust me, I've personally seen the weak points of a woman's heart." Little did she know, he meant quite literally.<br>"Those who warn are those who hesitate.." she hissed, but the hiss did not last for long until she was smacked harshly, sticky jam residue on her cheek from his hand. He grabbed her throat and slammed her against the wall, pleased by the thud her head made against it.  
>"Then I will digress no further. I worked very hard on this wonderful piece of literature as I know how much you enjoy such things." She could not speak, her air way was cut off by his hand. She grabbed his wrist grasping for air but she could not have it as her life was in the mercy of his hands. A true doctor he could be. He watched as she turned a pleasant blue and then let her go. His head tilted as she slid back down, the colors reversing.<br>"Now, where was I before you ungratefully interrupted?" He said to her thoughtfully and blinked only once.  
>"Ah, yes!" He exclaimed without showing too much enthusiasm as remembrance danced vibrantly into his eyes. He coughed once and then smoothly strode behind the candle so his face was made horrid with the dancing light of the flames and the taunting shadows that surrounding his crooked smirk. This instilled more fear into her heart, but she would try to remain calm. It was then, as she decided that fear would be like admitted her surrender and thus forfeiting her life, he began to recite with an ever ghostly tone his dreadful poem. With each line he paused and watched her face in self satisfaction as it twisted in anguish at his connotations.<br>"To B or not to B,  
>The question is naught.<br>I'd spill your blood  
>But I fear of love I am distraught.<br>Your flesh so pale, so beautiful with red.  
>And purple that drapes your very head.<br>Frailty thy name may be female  
>And to any man you belong to on a knife I will impale.<br>Ophelia, my detective,  
>Allow me to put things into perspective.<br>I'm the bumble bee and you are my butterfly.  
>Your wings, off I will rip them so you may not soar.<br>Without me and with L you will be no more."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three- The porcelain Doll

Upon a shelf inside of the Victorian-crafted structure sat a lone doll. L stood, hunched over and hands buried deep into his pockets. She was a rosy cheeked ginger with big, green eyes and a seemingly dull disposition. The never dilating pupils attempted to bare into his very soul but, like the human that possessed her, failed. His hands both raised from the burrowing depths of his baggy blue jeans and it was then that his left hand proceeded towards the bag in his back pocket. The M&M bag rustled noisily as he fumbled through the bag for a couple small candy bits. He noticed more porcelain dolls just as he had his fingers wrapped around two pieces of candy. Five of them were lying below the ginger doll's shelf face down on the floor that Ophelia obviously spent hours cleaning.  
>Why? He inquired to himself as he noticed a small white card with large metallic gold letters.<br>Not was blink was made as he read this print off the tag that so daintily hung from the tiny, fragile foot.  
>"Emily Victoria." he read the name aloud, his voice constantly drenched in monotony. The M&amp;Ms were beginning to melt in between his index finger and thumb, sticky chocolate alerting him slightly. Two M&amp;Ms, One green one blue (Just like Ophelia's eyes) found their way into his mouth and onto the tip of his eager tongue. A harrowing question presented itself to him, but he knew questions would not save O or find out if her attacker was who he thought it to be.<br>In his ever peculiar way, he picked the doll up by her waist and observed her in many different angles. He would make sure all was cover, if the assailant left this doll alone, there had to be a reason. His eyes went from the black and white of her gown, to the silken bow on the top of her black leather shoes. Still, he could not see much special about this particular doll. He, however, did recognize the doll itself. It was the doll that had been left with Ophelia when she was abandoned as a child. This doll, if he remember correctly (And he always did), had been all the rage (not to mention expensive) in 1989 amongst little girls. It was odd that he remembered such a minute detail, but one did not forget the doll held by a crying five year old.  
>His thought further digressed as he was reminded of the childhood story The Velveteen Rabbit Like the rabbit he was thinking of, the doll had obviously been loved, but it showed more when she had left Whammy's. He noticed that, since then, the doll had been scrubbed, professionally repainted, had her hair gently combed and girl, and had been given new clothes. (It showed as when she left the doll's dress had been torn, colored on, and rubbed in dirt.) He knelt down and picked up the other dolls that had been cast away. They, unlike miss Victoria, were not as cared for. Dust lined their bonnets and their hair was left with strands out of place in all angles of their head. Emily meant a lot to Ophelia, but he doubted a killer would care about his victim's precious thing. What could this possibly have meant?<br>He pulled away to the long, winding stairs of Ophelia's home. Pictures of she and her late husband lined the cream colored walls. As he ascended those stairs a particular picture of his colleague forced him to come to an abrupt halt. She was wearing a black string bikini under a brightly colored umbrella. She looked so pale, as usual while sitting beside a tanned, muscular man wearing a black pair of swim trunks. A pang of jealousy hit his stomach, but he forced it away with logic. Why was he dreading the sight of Ophelia with this blond, how did women put it, God? He had to keep his feelings from wedging into his mind and impeding his deduction skills. Yes, sure, Ophelia had grown and was no longer the morbidly overweight girl who fancied him, but she still wasn't his type. He rocked back and forth, he often saw this sign in other people telling lies trying to convince themselves the lies were the truth. Then came more logic, the kind he hated. If this is true that she is not my type, He reached the top of the stairs as he thought, Then why can't I stop thinking about her in….that skimpy swimsuit?  
>Further he advanced down the hardwood hallway. She was probably too lazy to vacuum, this the hard wood, or probably just fancied the old Victorian look. Ophelia had weird tastes. And as he advanced he found Ophelia's room as it was not that hard to spot. Her window was left wide open, an obvious sign of a struggle, as the red laced curtains flutter wildly against the whining wind that seemed to be singing an uncertain elegy. Prints were left on the neatly polished floor, but unfortunately smudged from<p>

Ophelia's own dragging feet. He took note that she had been looking over a case, judging from the photographs of a girl's slaughter.  
>Unlike this case, there is a chance for this victim to live. He told himself as he pulled from his pocket the Emily Victoria tag. Again his eyes read this card, but this time really read it, from front to back. There was a chance he may have missed something, even a small card could be a large clue.<p>

Front:  
>Emily Victoria - Collection 3 of the Victorian Series<br>Back:  
>13th doll in the series, adopted by<br>He kept reading it and stopped at the scribbled out name that could only be Ophelia's full real name. The scribble smelled strongly of crayon as he stuck it against his nose, his finger gripping the card in his awkward way. Crayon had such a different smell. He liked it. The 13 bounced around in his head, trying to think of something so special, if anything, this doll was left because the number was special. He was sure of it, his instincts were forcing him to believe that.  
>Of course, He thought to himself, but I must check first…<br>He kept pondering the possibilities as he descended, his heart pounding with each creak of the staircase. He opened the refrigerator and there he saw it. Pure confirmation laying beside a jar of mustard and behind a small piece of chocolate cake. He picked up the small plate and, with his index finger, raked a bit of chocolate off the side. He thought one thing as he licked his finger clean, staring at this obvious calling card. Strawberry jam was staring him in the face, mocking him with the half full jar. As much as he'd like to deny it, he couldn't. Beyond Birthday had abducted Ophelia...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four- What is Taken  
>The warmth of her bosom filled his body. She was so scared, his poor, beautiful butterfly. With her gown slid down in the front and the hem forced just above her waist, she lay still. Her thighs quaked and her sobs filled his ears. He moved upward on her body and dragged the tip of his tongue on her soft, pale cheek. His hot, wet palate traced over the two tiny hearts that were tattooed below her eyes. Her bottom lip was quivering, bleeding from the bite he recently dealt to it.<br>Her hands were free, but she was horrified, so horrified that she didn't know what to do. She was frozen in extreme fear. Hand of a mass murderer trailed up her pale thighs and this alerted her he was going for her something black and made of cotton. No! She thought, this couldn't happen. Even if she wasn't a virgin it would still be pretty devastating to be forcibly entered. Pictures of her husband flashed in her mind, he was smiling, the sun beating down on his golden hair. Then she opened her eyes and saw HIM, her husband had taken her virginity, but the thought of this…L imposter being inside of her made her ill. He quickly caught her hands as she twitched, ready to fight back.  
>"I…wouldn't do that if I were you." He chuckled with a sadistic smirk on his face.<br>The cold, cement of the surface beneath her was splattered with blood, some of it blood that was not even hers. She recalled him earlier apologizing for the mess. She also remembered him making a comment on how he couldn't help not to wait to have her. He told her she was a trophy. She couldn't really understand why. She felt the hot liquid dripping from the bite mark that existed on the nape of her neck. Her left thigh had the same sensation, the same bite mark which also resided on the backs of her thighs. Her nostrils were filled with fresh iron and salt.  
>"P…please." She implored pathetically. She was in so much pain that she could feel no more pain. "What do you want? Please…I…I will…" she sobbed, "give you…ANYTHING!" She cried harder, tears streaming heavily down her face, dripping down her neck. The tears found themselves following gravity and seeping into the wound on her neck's nape. Her back arched in absolute pain the salt from her tears stuck inside of the raw, punctured skin.<br>She jerked, crying more, causing herself even more pain as the cotton covering her nether region was yanked down to her knees.  
>"Why…" He took a purposely dramatic hesitation, letting her ponder what his next words would be. She was worried and struggled as best she could as she heard a bereft sound of a zipper coming undone. Though the dim light from the candle was snuffed, she didn't need to see what was going to happen. That was the one kindness he had done for her.<br>"I want the one thing L cannot have." He said with his tone carrying a hint of a joke tone.  
>With that, he gripped her wrists harshly and slammed them down on the surface beneath her. She cried loudly in more pain than she could possibly bear. Her back found itself arching again from the throbbing wave of pain vibrating through her body. Beyond shoved his manhood into the woman. Poor girl was not as accustomed as seeing in the dark as he was. The dark was his home. He watched her eyes widen abruptly. Never had BB defiled his victims like this, but there was something about O…<br>There she was as he left her, crying and clutching to the torn remains of her gown. Her womb was hot from the forced friction and full of his seed. She clutched to the wall, her body reeked of his. When she stood, blood trickled down her thighs. He'd been so extremely rough with her. Her tear stained face was rough from the dried salt which had been trapped inside of her pores. She winced and leaned forward, her face pressed up against the wall's gray brick. She saw a door and began to stumble towards it weakly. Maybe it was a bathroom. Maybe she could clean up. THUMP she found herself against the door and grabbed at the knob. The door was opened, and the sight she observed was so horrible, she could feel vomit rising up her esophagus...


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five- The Heart that Does Not Beat  
>It was horrid site for a woman who had just experienced sexual violation. She backed away a bit looking at the chest cavity that lay on a black trash bag. It was just an opened torso, the ribs cracked and forced aside. Beside of the human chest was a heart, two lungs, and a butcher knife. The small and large intestines poured from the bottom, the liver dissected laying next to the intestines. Tears welled up, more of them, but she couldn't cry anymore. There was nothing left in her. She had to run, she didn't know where, but here wasn't a good place to be. She kept her hand over her mouth and nose making sure that the smell would creep its way into her nose wreaking havoc in her nasal cavities. She was a detective and the smell of death should have been something that she was used to, but most detectives didn't get raped before seeing a brutal murder.<br>She wheeled around only to find herself in the arms of the man who sought to hurt not only her, but someone she hadn't laid eyes on since she left Whammy's at the age of eighteen. L.  
>"I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be up, sweetheart, I intended to clean this mess up.." He began to stroke one of her pigtails, his hands tangling in the purple locks. She had such long, beautiful hair.<br>"…I know how to keep a home when a lady is present…."  
>This scared Ophelia, more than anything. Was he going to touch her again? She couldn't see predictability in BB, no, everyone else could be read, but only two people were impervious to her facial literacy. BB and L. She clutched her stomach, it hurt so much, but she couldn't do anything about it and so she would say nothing. She backed away from him, her thought on one thing. Getting away from him so he couldn't hurt her anymore. Her hand remained on her stomach while she pondered the frightening possibility of being impregnated by Beyond.<br>A laugh emerged from his mouth just as a horrid squishing sound occurred upon her next back step. A sticky liquid, oozing, and cold sent a terrible wave of nausea through her body. Stiffly she looked down and yanked her foot away, but it was too late to have seen the heart now. The aorta was squished and veins had stuck to her toes. She leapt forward and found herself, regrettably in BB's arms.  
>"Oh, Ophelia, now...look what you've done, you've caused a bigger mess." He was calm in his tone as he looked at the foot that made the mess. Blood was stuck between her toes and ran down to the ball of her heels. Ophelia looked back at the heart, though it was the last of her worries. She had to keep repeating to herself calming words so she wouldn't be seeing any previous meals, such a sight otherwise would have caused massive amounts of vomit. A foot print, a dainty little foot print, was stamped onto the worthless and long since been discarded organ.<br>A smirk appeared on his face while he looked at her.  
>"I can scold you all I want, but the truth is, I could never stay mad at you, or even be mad from the beginning." He stroked her hair in a sweeter touch, dragging her around the carcass of the man and towards the shower. It was there that they spent countless hours under the rushing water that spouted from the shower head. Ophelia whimpered helplessly and pressed her face into his chest trying to break away from the rotting smell of the cadaver. She could hear little 'shh's from the mouth of her captor. Her nude body was against his, but not in the irritating way that it had been before. This way, was, actually pretty nice and she could not really imagine hating BB. Her hair was down, the ties lying beside a toothbrush placed on the sink. Ophelia could feel nimble fingers of a killer running through her hair, begging for her to forgive. She looked up into his eyes, those eyes. Those eyes, she thought to herself, there was something about them, he kept looking at her like he knew something that she didn't know. In those eyes, she expected to see something an answer, a supplication for forgiveness, but here she saw nothing.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6-Blissful, Isn't It?

A mile from Ophelia's home, L finds himself placed in a new background. A sea of houses expand over a horizon of softly rolling hills. Overhead, a thick, crisp azure blanket sets on top of it all. It would have appeared to be smothering life forms below it had it not been accompanied by a fresh breeze. His slouched frame lingers before a modern two-story house, his bare feet sunken into the freshly cut grass. Had it not been for the emergency based trucks and the yellow police tape hugging the home, everything would have appeared to be normal. On the outside.

The sun illuminates the bright green of the lawn, making it almost impossible for him to observe anything else. He kneels and picks up the only atrocity on the outside, a piece of litter. He flattens what appears to be a grape Blow Pop wrapper using his forefinger and thumb. His other hand darts to the side, using his finger nails to pluck the wrapper up and hold it to his hawk eyes.

"Sir!" A husky voice boomed from his left, snapping his attention away from the paper.

'Sir! You can't go beyond the tape!" The policeman, who had hastily made his way to him, huffed. His large belly jiggled as his body complained over the heavy hauling it had just done. The Blow Pop wrapper is placed in his pocket for either closer examination or a proper waste basket.

Calm, wide eyes turned their attention to a tall, darkly dressed man. The man reacted by reaching into his pocket, pulling out a badge and politely shoving it into the policeman's face. L continues forward into the home, but not without passing a mourning young woman wearing a business suit. The mourning woman runs to an M.E. carrying from the house a small boy with curly, blond hair and pale pink cheeks.

The boy haplessly holds a teddy bear while sucking on a plastic blue pacifier. The blue of his onesie had a fuzzy texture with small ducks imprinted all over. As he blinks, it is made clear to L that he is completely unaware of the events that occurred during his daily nap. He is unaware that his father lay on the bathroom floor, thoughtlessly dissected with red footprints placed around his body. Ophelia's foot prints. The baby, weary of his mother's seemingly pointless tears, spits out his pacifier and begins to call for his father to rescue him from the annoying shower.

"Dada!"


End file.
